Seducing His Princess (Married by Royal Decree 3)

And here she was, in Zahara, what passed for Jareer’s capital.

They’d come two weeks ago to prepare for the dual celebration. By they, she meant everyone. Her getting hitched was such a big deal that her family had left Judar unattended to make sure her wedding went, well, without a hitch.

Not that Mohab was letting anyone do anything. Apart from Carmen, who was a master event planner, and Aliyah, a world-renowned artist who had eagerly taken charge of dressing everyone, he had adamantly refused to let anyone lift a finger in anything but recreation. As such, he spent his every waking hour being the perfect host to everyone.

While acting as their tour guide, he’d been a mine of information. According to him, this area had been settled since prehistoric times, and to prove it he’d taken them to see the local caves with their ancient rock paintings. He’d showed them the monuments of every culture that had left their mark on the region, with the most influential being Ottoman, Persian and Indian, but all wrapped up in an Arabian feel.

Apart from the many tourist spots the region boasted, it had surprised her how much there was to do around here. There was a vast array of outdoor activities—from hiking to dune skating to horseback riding, to swimming in and lazing around sparkling springs, to bonfire banquets at night.

It had been bittersweet watching Mohab dote on her sisters-in-law and nephews and nieces and bond with her brothers. They had all taken to him—especially Kamal—which caused her extra delight...and dejection, when she knew that this would all end on a prearranged date.

As it had to.

But through it all, she’d done everything she could not to dwell on that inevitable end before they even began. And in those moments that she managed to forget, she’d reveled in his spoiling. For how he’d spoiled her.

Though nothing he did could make up for being unable to have him again. Since they’d come here, he hadn’t even had a chance to kiss her. Well, he did, constantly, but only her hands, shoulders and cheeks. And then there were the scorching caresses, the devouring, brooding glances, the laden-with-promise smiles and the lavish words of praise. Everything had kept her on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

Sighing, she focused on the scene in the distance, with Zahara’s houses arranged in graduated compositions of whitewashed adobe and red and yellow-ocher stone. At night, before the full moon rose, they were only shades of gray, but in the daylight they looked like an explosion of flowers atop the sandstone hills.

Mohab had insisted on coming here by land, saying the scenery on the way was worth the six-hour drive from Durgham. And it had been. She’d never seen such variations to the desert, the terrain flowing from undulating dunes to hilly pastures to mountainous heights to combinations of everything.

Then this castle had materialized in the horizon, reigning over Zahara, and it had taken her breath away.

Nestled in the containment of the craggy mountain that overlooked the vista of Zahara, against an ocean of dunes, it crouched behind soaring ancient walls shielded by battlements that summoned to mind Saladin and the Crusades. That night it had loomed against an impossibly starry night, with torchlight fluctuating from the inside and the guard posts shedding their firelight on the outside, drenching it in a deeper, supernatural tinge.

It had been the Aal Kussaimis’ stronghold until the time of Sheikh Numair, Mohab’s maternal great-grandfather. But after Jareer had signed the treaty with Saraya, and no one inhabited it anymore, this place had fallen into decay.

But Mohab had had it restored in order to boost Jareer’s tourist business. He’d succeeded, since the citadel had become one of the region’s most frequented historical sites. Like her, tourists found it a once-in-a-lifetime experience, as they wandered through its maze of passages, extensive grounds and interconnected structures, feeling as if they were taking a stroll in the past. Tonight the place would rise against a full moon, and be bathed in the lights of the extensive tent set just outside its walls for the wedding celebration.

She’d expected the guests to include world movers and shakers, but to hear that two presidents and one king from the Western world were attending had made her feel the gravity of the whole situation. This wasn’t just a royal wedding, but a major political event. Mohab was claiming more than a bride tonight—he was claiming the throne of a land that would feature heavily in global power from now on.

Standing up, she looked around the chamber Mohab had assigned her till their wedding. He’d restored every inch to its original condition with painstaking authenticity, but had outfitted it with every modern luxury and amenity. She could see herself living here, going away only for work, but always coming back home here.

Home. She’d never felt she had a home. But this majestic place—which was permeated with Mohab’s unique, indomitable essence—felt like home.

Not that it mattered how it felt. Her stay here was only a transient one. Now, even the hour she’d managed to negotiate alone before everyone swarmed around her to prepare her for the most momentous night of her life was almost up.

“You hour is up, sweetie.”

Groaning, she turned to her sisters-in-law, who were striding through the chamber’s ancient oak door. “You must have a stopwatch in your lineage, Aliyah.”

The ladies laughed at her lament as Aliyah ushered in her ladies-in-waiting with everything Jala would be wearing. Jala’s only input had been picking a color scheme. Living in jeans or utilitarian dresses, she hadn’t been about to trust herself with an opinion beyond that. Needing to look the part of Mohab’s bride and queen, she’d left it all to Aliyah’s artistry and experience as a queen, and to the other two ladies who were far better versed than she was in fulfilling the demands of their titles.

Carmen clapped impatiently. “Hop to it! Your hour of meditation crunched the time to get you ready to a measly thirty minutes!”

Jala bowed. “Yes, O Mistress of Magnificent Events.”

Farah chuckled as she fanned her hands in excitement. “You don’t know the half of it. Everything you think you saw, or thought the preparations would amount to, is nothing to the end result. And I thought Carmen made my wedding rival a fable from One Thousand and One Nights!”

Carmen chuckled. “I actually didn’t do much this time. Your Mohab is so ultraefficient, not to mention head over heels in love with you, he’s the one who’s done most of the work to give you the best wedding in modern times.”

Jala was an old hand by now in maintaining a bright smile when everyone kept stating how much Mohab was in love with her. They had no idea how it actually was between them. But how could they? To them, it must seem like a fairy tale, and they must believe that everything Mohab lavished on her was based on what they all defined as love. None of them could imagine that her relationship was nothing like theirs, that his involvement was fueled by pure passion and garnished by convenience, and that the whole thing had an expiration date.